


Endurance

by alwaysastorm



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Formula One, M/M, Male Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:19:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysastorm/pseuds/alwaysastorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in mid-2013 for Motorskink.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Set at the end of the 2014 season. Felipe Massa is no longer with Ferrari, while Rob has remained at the team as Mark Webber's race engineer.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Endurance

_"Did we do it? Rob mate, did we do it?"_

_"You crossed the line in fourth. We did it Mark. It was Kimi, Lewis, Rosberg, then you. Vettel binned it on lap sixteen as you saw, and Fernando was only twelfth after the puncture. You took the championship by two points. Well done mate, well done."_

Rob's voice cracked on the last _'well done'_ , and he felt Diego punching his arm, someone else slapping him on the back. The arms around him, the chants and cheers from the Interlagos crowd, the roar of the cars as they pulled into parc ferme – it was all suffocating, and suddenly Rob felt like he couldn't breathe. He took a swig from his bottle of water, his hands trembling and clammy.

"You deserve this victory Rob," he heard Stefano tell him, but his vision was blurred as he looked at his boss. "Retribution for 2008 at last, no?"

Rob gave a nod, pulling his headphones down so they were slung around his neck, and picking up his clipboard. He took a step down from the pitwall, looking straight ahead at the Ferrari garage and wondering how he was going to make it across with shaking legs and a colossal lump in his throat. He could hear the Lotus mechanics chanting Kimi's name, then shouting coming from Mark's crew. They were yelling at him, calling his name, and babbling in Italian.

"Rob! Champagne, Rob! Champagne!"

They held bottles aloft, beckoning him over, their faces split wide open with ecstatic grins. Rob quickened his pace and accepted one of the bottles as he joined them; cheers erupting from the inside of the garage as he took a huge swig.

A season of rule changes, crazy weather, and Vettel and Alonso not having stellar seasons by their usual standards had played into Mark's hands. The three of them had gone into the final race of the season separated by only a few points. The three final contenders after both Lotus and Mercedes had failed to interpret the rule changes as well as Red Bull and Ferrari had. The two wins Mark had snatched during the season along with a consistent string of podiums had put him in the championship race – although until the very end most people believed it would be Fernando or Sebastian that ultimately took the title. Rob hadn't expected to win. He'd wanted it, of course he had – he loved to win – but he'd slept a hell of a lot easier the night before the race than he had the last time he'd been in this situation; the memories of which threatened to overwhelm him completely as he handed the large green bottle back to a mechanic, wiping champagne off his lips with the back of his hand.

"Rob, will you do an interview for us? We're not live right now but it'll be going out in five."

Ted Kravitz thrust a microphone under his nose but Rob pushed it away with the flat of his palm. Behind him, the mechanics were jumping up and down and singing 'We are the Champions' in heavily accented voices.

"Sorry," Rob said firmly. "Not today."

Calmly, he shook the hands of every crew member and thanked them for all their hard work throughout the season. They deserved this. Loyal, tireless workers. Always ready to put in a late night, never complaining if Rob asked them to change the set-up at the last moment. He wondered sometimes if the previous driver they had worked for had kept in touch with some of them. He never asked. Just like they had never asked him the same.

Rob walked to the back of the garage, telling himself over and over that he was the new WDC's race engineer, but it didn't seem real. What did he do now? Would there be a de-brief as normal straight after the media commitments, or would that wait until they were back in Maranello? There would be partying to be done after all, and suddenly Rob relished the thought of ice cold bottles of beer; glistening with condensation and topped with tangy wedges of lime. His tongue prickled a little at the anticipation of that first taste.

He set his clipboard and earphones onto a table, leaning his forehead against the cool plastic wall. He exhaled, trying to make the most of the few seconds he would get alone while he still could.

"Are you okay?"

Rob felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Giuliano. He gave a slight shrug but then nodded, sighing.

"Yeah... It's just... "

Rob hit his fist sideways against the wall, shaking his head grimly.

"It's just... why couldn't this have happened six fucking years ago. God's sake!" His teeth were gritted and his fists clenched as he spoke.

Giuliano didn't say much, he never did. But he nodded, and Rob knew he didn't need to add any more. Giuliano was the only one who knew everything, the only one who had dared even say the last driver's name in Rob's presence over this past year.

"That's what we all wanted, Rob." He paused, nodding his head towards the front of the garage. "Mark is looking for you."

Rob smiled sardonically. "I'll bet he is."

A booming "SMEEEEEEEEDLEY!" echoed around the garage as Mark jogged in. He smacked Rob on the back, giving a shout of "Congratulations, you fucker!" as he pulled Rob in for a hug. Rob returned the smacks, laughing, before pulling away and shaking Mark's hand firmly. No kisses on the cheek or ruffling of hair. Not with this guy.

He'd wanted to move to a different job on the pitwall for this season, even a job off it, but Mark was only on a one year contract at Ferrari before quitting F1 for good, and the team had believed the pair would work well together. Rob hadn't really had any proper say in the matter. And somehow, being less emotionally involved with his driver had been advantageous. Head down, get the job done had been his mantra for the past nineteen races.

***

Rob was wincing at how disgusting toothpaste tasted after drinking champagne when he heard the beep coming from his phone. He really needed to switch Twitter notifications off on that fucking thing. He wiped his face with a towel and pulled a pale blue shirt on. They were all going to a churrascaria before some club or party – Rob wasn't entirely sure, he was just going to go where the night took him.

He shoved his hotel room key into the pocket of his jacket and grabbed his phone from off the bedside table, seeing a barrage of messages. Idly he scrolled through them, smiling at all the nice things people were saying. He checked his Twitter replies, almost dropping the phone as he felt his blood run cold.

**Martin Brundle @MBrundleF1**

_Just had a chat with Felipe Massa who's in Sao Paulo this weekend. Must be tough for him to see @RobSmedleyFerrari engineer a driver to a WDC at Interlagos._

 

Rob scratched his head, paced around the room, thinking and thinking and thinking. _Felipe is in Sao Paulo. Felipe._ _Felipe_ _._ That name, one he had hardly dared to think of for the best part of a year, now ran freely around his mind.

"Felipe," he said out loud, and his own voice sounded alien to him.

He scrolled through his contacts and hit Giuliano's name, the phone screen smeared with sweat from his perspiring hands.

"Was he at the track today?"

"No."

"But he IS in the city?"

"I heard he was. I didn't see him, Rob. But I heard he was meeting up with some people from Globo."

***

_"Felipe! Felipe, please."_

_Felipe had one hand on the door handle of the motorhome already, his rucksack on his back and his car keys in his hand. A mere hour after the race had ended, he was ready to go – no party, no reminiscing, no goodbyes._

_"Please just stop." Rob placed his hand over the top of the driver's, gently removing it from the handle and ensuring the door remained shut. "This isn't you. You can't just go like this."_

_Felipe turned to look at him, and merely shrugged. There was no passion, or sadness, or even hate in those eyes. They were simply blank, in a way that Rob had never seen before._

_The last two races of the season had been horrendous – not in terms of results, there'd been solid points finishes and a podium – but having to go through strategies and meetings with Felipe when the Brazilian would barely look at him or speak in anything other than dull, flat tones had been just about enough to break Rob. The team had had the usual cake and champagne in the garage on Friday morning, of course. The big 'thank you and farewell' item on the website, with the usual heavily altered quote from Felipe. A fake smile had been plastered onto the Brazilian's face all weekend as he tried to maintain that he appreciated all this, tried to pretend that his heart wasn't almost completely broken._

_"Let me go," Felipe implored. "I don't want to be here anymore. In fact, here, you have this... "_

_He unzipped the Ferrari rucksack, and grabbed his iPhone and bottle of water from it. Empty now, he threw it onto the floor. For the first time Rob realised that Felipe was in a plain black t-shirt, no baseball cap, no Ferrari trainers. Not a prancing horse was to be found on him._

_In desperation, Rob grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the door._

_"Just stay. You don't need to go out with the rest of the team, but don't go home. We can go for dinner, or a drink. Just the two of us. We'll sort something out. This doesn't have to be the end."_

_Felipe's shoulders slumped and he stood there. Rob took his hand, linking their fingers, the way they always had in the private moments they had shared in the motorhome before each race. He held his breath, waiting for the squeeze, but Felipe's hand remained limp. Rob reached up to touch his hair, but Felipe moved his head away._

_"Don't do that."_

_Rob's hand dropped to his side._

_"So this is it?"_

_"I think it has to be, no? You will be here and I won't be, so what's the point."_

_***_

Felipe had never answered his calls or replied to his texts. Rob had even joined Twitter just to try to get in touch with him that way, but Felipe never tweeted now and the direct messages he sent him remained ignored. After six months, Rob had given up. The new season began and he was soon occupied with getting to know Mark properly, getting to understand the new rules, getting used to adjusting to a working life without Felipe Massa in it.

He walked through the hotel corridor, down the stairs and into the lobby where a few members of the team were waiting for him, shoving another bottle of champagne into his hand the moment they saw him. Rob made the decision to get absolutely wasted. There was nothing else for it, and at least in the morning he would have a hangover to deal with which would consume his mind instead.

"Bottoms up," he said drily, taking several large swigs and encouraging every one else to take a drink.

"Give us a go on that then Smedley."

Mark appeared, looking relaxed and happy. Finishing your career as the F1 World Champion was a fantastic way to go, Rob reflected, and wondered what the future held for _him_ now. Stefano had promised they would discuss his career progression at Ferrari back in Maranello before Christmas, and Rob hoped for a change. The thought of being given another driver to work with, another driver to get to know all over again made him feel tired, very tired.

"Right, we're off to the restaurant guys," Mark announced, clapping his hands together. "Smedley, you're with me in the first taxi – let's get you completely shitfaced mate."

Rob gave a loud belly-laugh. It felt good.

"You think I need any help in that department?"

A few of them piled into the taxi, Rob leaning against the window in the back seat, and staring out as the car made its short journey through the Sao Paulo streets. One half of his stomach was rumbling with the thought of a plump steak, the other half turning over like a washing machine at the mixture of excitement and nerves. He focused on the hustle and bustle of the city; the long red and white buses, the overhanging traffic lights, the honking horns of the many cars. The footpaths were thronged with people, and every time Rob saw a short, dark-haired man, and there were a lot, he had to crane his neck to see, to see if...

"Steaks and wine on me," Mark told them all, as they exited the taxi and went into the restaurant. A long table was already set at the side of the room, and Mark motioned for Rob to sit beside him in the middle.

"Cachaca," Mark said firmly, slapping his hand down onto the table, and before Rob knew it, there was a shot glass in his hand, and he was knocking it back with gusto, barely even tasting it, and being glad of that fact. The table was littered with wine bottles too, and despite multiple sips from his wine glass, it never seemed to go down; someone was always there pouring more in, and it was something Italian, he could tell that much, and it was smooth and warming and helped his brain to fuzz over so that soon he was laughing freely and easily, shouting across the table at the others, and draping a hand around Mark's shoulders; telling him congratulations, and saying much too much about how reluctant he'd been to become his race engineer at the beginning.

"It took some adjustment for us both, mate," Mark agreed, leaning over to shout into Rob's ear. The restaurant was awash with the noise of talking, laughing and clinking bottles. "Look I know I don't have that link with you that you had with Felipe, but I hope we can stay friends after this."

"Ablosutely," Rob slurred. "I mean, asbolutely. I mean... oh fuck it."

He stood up, gripping onto the back of the chair to steady himself.

"Gonna go for a piss."

Rob went into the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror above the urinal. He looked knackered. No, not knackered, just pissed out of his skull. He made a face at his reflection, and the reflection made the face back.

"Sober up," he told the face, as he zipped up his trousers.

He walked to the sink, splashed his face with cold water and ran his fingers through his hair. Maybe one more glass of wine and then he should go. He checked his watch – it was half 10 and he knew if he stayed on here much longer, he'd end up being convinced to go to the end of season party, or some club where he'd hate the music, and that would be him until the early hours of the morning.

He held his finger up to the mirror.

"One more glass," he said out loud. " Just one."

He shoved his hands into his pockets as he heard the bathroom door being opened. A man in an orange shirt walked in, and Rob gave him a brief nod.

A man in an orange shirt. Orange.

Globo.

 _'I heard he was meeting up with some people from Globo,'_ Guiliano had said.

***

_His gate had just been announced but Rob couldn't give up, he had to try one more time. Standing here in the departure lounge of the airport in Italy, he knew that he couldn't cope with a long flight to Melbourne not knowing that he hadn't at least given it another shot. He held his breath until he heard a male voice answer._

_"Dudu? It's Rob."_

_"Oh... hello."_

_Rob swallowed, seeing the people queueing up outside the gate. He had time, he had time, he had time..._

_"Did you get my text?"_

_"I got it."_

_Dudu sounded distant, not the normally pleasant young man that he knew – or had known. He'd spoken to him on the telephone a few times since the end of last year, and he'd always been friendly, always told him that Felipe maybe just needed a little time, but he'd do his best to try to get Felipe to talk to him. But something about his tone of voice now made Rob's chest tighten. All he'd done was text Dudu just to ask him to tell Felipe he hoped he was keeping well. That was all._

_"Did you tell Felipe what I said? I'm about to board my flight to Melbourne, and... "_

_"I told him, Rob."_

_"Oh man, that's great, that's great. Thank you."_

_Rob could feel a slight lift of tension from his shoulders. At least Felipe knew that he had been asking about him. This was progress; something to build on. Maybe Dudu could let him know that..._

_"Please don't ask me to pass on any more messages. Felipe told me."_

_"Told you? Told you what?"_

_There was a long sigh down the other end of the line, and when Dudu spoke again his voice was tighter, irritated._

_"He told me that you knew for weeks before him that he wasn't getting his contract renewed, and you never even warned him."_

_***_

Okay, it was true, Rob had known.He'd known since the summer break, but what the fuck could he have done? Stefano had called him in, told him that they had signed Mark but that Felipe wasn't to know. They'd kept him hanging on and on for as long as they could, dangling a possible contract extension in front of Felipe so that he'd keep helping Fernando in the championship. And Rob had despised himself for lying, for reassuring Felipe that yes, of course there was still a chance for Ferrari to keep him on, but his job would have been on the line too if he'd told Felipe the truth. How Felipe had found out that he'd been in on it all was anyone's guess – a journalist maybe, or perhaps someone from the team. There were no real secrets in the F1 paddock, after all.

He realised that if he stayed in this bathroom any longer, someone might think he was ill, and that would do his reputation no good at all. It was time to walk out there, and head straight to the table. Don't look around, don't let your eyes scan the room for people who may or may not be here.

Rob immediately spotted the Globo table thanks to many of them still being in their orange shirts, just like the man he'd seen in the bathroom. They were placed at the opposite side of the restaurant from the Ferrari table, and they were all chattering rapidly and clinking glasses. Rob told himself over and over in his mind not to look. If he looked left, he'd see his own table. He could go over, down his drink, grab his coat, and go. And then he need never know if Felipe had been there.

...He looked.

Reginaldo Leme was pulling his chair out, obscuring who was sitting opposite him. Somehow, Rob knew exactly who it would be before Reginaldo even sat down. And there he was. Felipe, sitting with a large glass of red wine in his hand, the flickering candles casting shadows across his face. Rob cleared his throat and tried to keep on walking, but his legs felt like they might collapse from underneath him if he so much as took one step. His tongue felt dry and he hoped he wasn't gaping like a fish as he stood there, unable to tear his gaze away from the Brazilian.

He saw Felipe glance at him momentarily, then look again as he realised who was standing a few feet away from him. Their eyes met, and Rob felt winded. He opened his mouth, contemplating mouthing 'hello', but then shut it again. Felipe turned his eyes away, laughing at something the girl beside him was saying into his ear. Across the room Rob heard the infectious giggle, that raucous noise Felipe made when he laughed. As steadily as he could, he made his way back to his chair and sat down.

"See who's here," Mark said, pointing towards the Globo table.

"...Yeah," Rob replied after an initial pause. "Yeah."

"Gonna go over?"

Rob gave a non-committal shrug as he swilled the dregs of his wine around. He stole glances at Felipe when he could, seeing that the hair was a little longer at the back now, jet black and curly, and that while his face was a certainly a little fuller and his stomach a bit rounder in that tight grey t-shirt he was wearing, there was nothing to suggest that Felipe hadn't been keeping up with _some_ sort of training regime. His skin was darker than Rob had ever seen it, and his brow seemed to be a bit more furrowed now, but aside from that he was the way he'd always been.

The muzak the restaurant was pumping out and the noise of the other diners was starting to make Rob's head throb. He winced at the scraping noise of a chair being moved, then saw that it had been caused by Felipe, who was walking outside with his phone clamped to his ear. Rob quickly fished in his jacket pocket for his cigarettes and followed him outside as calmly as he could. He leant against the wall at the side of the restaurant as Felipe paced up and down along the street, talking animatedly. Rob put his head back against the bricks, breathing in the smells of the traffic and the drizzle that had been threatening to fall all weekend.

"Congratulations."

Rob opened his eyes. Felipe was opposite him, his hands thrust into his pockets.

Rob stood up straight again.

"Thank you. Um... I... "

Vainly he struggled for something to say. Now that he finally had the chance, no words seemed to be forthcoming.

 "You must have enjoyed winning. I guess it shows I was the problem all along, huh."

Felipe kicked at the kerbstone and headed back towards the restaurant entrance. Rob's arm shot out, and his fingers clamped around Felipe's wrist. Felipe tried to pull away, but Rob felt the blood pulsate through his veins in sudden irritation and year-long pent up frustration.

"Stay. _Talk_. If you go back inside, I'm just going to wait until you leave. All night, if I have to."

Felipe's jaw jutted out stubbornly and his lips turned downwards into a pout as Rob guided him a few feet away down the relative solitude of a side street.

***

_They'd been lying there on top of the bedsheets. Felipe's first season at Ferrari was over and now, now they had to say goodbye, if only for a little while. Rob had yawned, stretched his arm out and eased his body up off the bed slightly. Felipe had pushed him back down gently, whispering 'Five more minutes', and holding his arm back down onto the pillow._

_Felipe opened Rob's fingers and slid his in between. Rob gave a long, contented sigh as he gripped them._

 

_"Gonna miss you, you know," he mumbled sleepily._

_"Saudade."_

_"Mmm?"_

_"Saudade," Felipe answered softly, laying his head on Rob's shoulder. "It means, to miss, you know?"_

_"Miss?"_

_"Yeah, but more than that – more than a lot. Is hard for me to explain."_

_"Like longing for something?" Rob offered, and Felipe nodded in delight that Rob understood._

_"Or someone," he whispered, leaning in for a kiss._

_***_

"I don't have time for this," Felipe snapped. Rob grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back towards the wall. Felipe was stony-faced as Rob held a finger aloft, because this was a point he needed to make, and had done for over a year now.

"What I need to say is... "

Felipe waved his hand as if to dismiss him and Rob slapped it away.

"I miss you," he said, enunciating every word. He took Felipe's hands between his. "I miss you, I miss you, oh my _God_ I miss you."

Rob's voice cracked and he let go of Felipe's hands, letting his arms drop by his sides. He tilted his head to one side.

"I'm sure I have more I could say, but... "

"You are very good at keeping quiet," Felipe retorted, his dark eyes narrowed. "I think you have had lots of practice when you were keeping Ferrari's secrets from me."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Rob exclaimed, slamming his palm into the wall behind Felipe's head. That'd hurt in the morning. But right now the pain in his chest hurt much worse.

"You know nothing," he hissed. "Do you know what they asked me to do? Do you? They asked me to engineer _Fernando_ this season, not Mark. They wanted to promote Andrea from race engineer to Massimo's job. And I said no, because I knew how you would feel about that. Agreeing to engineer Mark instead was all I could do. It was either that or get demoted."

"Very good," Felipe nodded sarcastically. "You lied to me for weeks. How could I ever trust you again? How can I trust what you're saying now? And you miss me? So? I think you miss having someone to stop you feeling lonely when you're in a hotel room on your own." He threw his hands in the air. "I don't want to hear any more! I can't even... " He paused, swallowing hard. "I can't even believe the things that I used to feel for you."

Rob took a step backwards. Felipe's words felt as if they'd wounded him; sliced him apart right down the middle. The venom in his voice was something that he'd never heard before, the sneery tone so unfamiliar; so unlike Felipe. But perhaps that was the way Felipe was now. And he and Ferrari had done that. The Brazilian squared up to him, a defiant expression on his face. Once, Rob would have laughed and made a quip about Felipe needing to stand on his tiptoes, but not today.

"Enjoy your evening," Felipe tried to turn on his heel but Rob blocked his path.

"Listen. For once, just _listen_. I do miss you. And I miss what we had." His voice trembled. "But most of all I miss you being _this_ close to the walls. I miss the heart attacks you almost give me. I miss you pulling off these crazy moves that should send you into the gravel. I miss you swearing at me over the radio when I've misheard you. I miss everything. Everything, Felipe."

Rob could see Felipe's face visibly softening. The eyes turned from almost-black to rich brown, and the full lips twitched slightly at one side. He crossed his arms, chewing the side of his mouth, the way he always did when he was thinking.

"Is maybe true."

Rob exhaled, smiled a little, but didn't dare take a step forward or say any more.

"Thought I'd find you two out here chatting."

Mark appeared, giving Felipe a good-natured punch on the arm, and chucking Rob his jacket.

"We're heading to the party now Smedley. You coming? Or are you going to stand here gassing with your first love?" He shook his head, laughing. "Honestly Felipe mate, I don't think he ever got used to engineering someone else. I always said I got him second-hand, could never compare."

Felipe flashed Rob a look, holding his gaze long enough for Rob to have to stare down at the pavement shyly.

"Yeah, well... " he shrugged.

"Are you coming then?"

"Hmm?"

"Jesus Smedley, are you coming to the party with us or not?"

Mark rolled his eyes exasperatedly. Rob hesitated, glancing at Felipe, who said nothing. _Please tell me to stay. Please._

"Yeah... I guess so," Rob pulled his jacket on, first looking over at the taxi that had just pulled up, and then at Felipe.

"Well, bye then," he said, and he could hear how constricted his voice sounded.

"Yeah," Felipe said, his hand tugging at the collar of his t-shirt. "See you."

***

_Felipe knew that watching Monza and Interlagos were going to be difficult, but it had never occurred to him that Silverstone was going to give him those terrible pangs too – the pangs of missing racing, of missing the team, even missing that horrible cold weather and the wind that could cut you in two. But Rob had always been so pumped every time they raced there, so eager to do well in his home country, and that enthusiasm had been infectious, with Felipe always doing everything he could to put on a good show for Rob's fellow Brits._

_"What's happening?"_

_A cool, calm hand slid its way across the length of Felipe's shoulders as Raffa sat down beside him, handing him a mug of coffee._

_"Webber's leading. There's 15 laps left."_

_Felipe sat forward on the sofa, the remote control in his hands. He fidgeted as he watched, turning the remote over and over in his hand, his foot tapping every so often. He had tried not to watch the races, had swore he wouldn't, but it was impossible not to. The racing gave him a short, intense kick, but would then send him spiralling into a black mood for the remainder of the weekend. Raffa started to speak, but he quickly shushed her as he heard the beep indicating that team radio was about to be played. He knew that beep all too well._

 

**Okay the gap to Kimi is 4.2 seconds. Repeat, the gap to Kimi is 4.2 seconds. Your last lap was three tenths quicker. C'mon Fel... c'mon mate, we can do this**

 

_Felipe gripped onto his mug so the tremor in his hand was less obvious, but he could see Raffa glancing at him. He coughed, but the sound of Galvao's voice came loud and clear out of the TV._

_"Rob Smedley almost calls Mark Webber the wrong name! I think he has forgotten that Felipe Massa isn't driving anymore. Rob must miss him!"_

_"He must do," Raffa said quietly. Felipe gave a brief shake of his head, pointing the remote control at the TV to turn the volume down a little._

_"No, no," he replied, downing the remainder of his coffee so that he didn't have to speak._

_Raffa stood up, leaning down to kiss him gently on the cheek._

_"You know, you should call him one of these days."_

_***_

"I have to be at the airport in ten hours," Rob protested, but the other guys from the team shoved another caipirinha in his hand, laughing and telling him that the night was still young. The music in the club at the hotel where the end of season party was being held was insanely loud, and Rob kept thinking of his unpacked suitcase and depressingly long flight back to Europe. Added to which, he was ever so slightly – well, bored. The dance music, celebrities and models weren't really his thing.

His eyes darted around the club, trying to spot if anyone was up to any mischief. Then he realised that Mark wasn't one for playing pranks. If it had been Felipe, for sure he'd have fallen victim to some practical joke already this evening. He sipped his drink, grimacing at how tepid it was, thanks to the heat of his hand around the glass. It was just too warm in here, even though the late hour meant that people were slowly starting to leave at last. He saw a space in the corner at the side of the bar, and leant against the wall gratefully. Maybe he could just leave his half-full glass sitting somewhere and make an exit before anyone noticed he was gone. He swirled the liquid around, ice cubes clinking together. With his little finger, he poked at the lime wedges in an attempt to make it more palatable.

"Why are you standing on your own?"

Rob looked up from the glass. Felipe was in front of him.

_Because I don't have you with me._

"Old and boring, me," Rob drawled with a slight shrug.

Felipe bit his lip and nodded, looking around at everyone. Rob struggled to think of something to say now, coming up with only pithy small talk.

"Are you here with Globo as well then?"

Felipe shook his head. "They are still at the restaurant."

"You're here alone?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Rob asked, and again Felipe bit his lip.

"Is too noisy in here," he said, seemingly to himself as well as Rob. "Let's go upstairs."

Rob didn't know what exactly 'upstairs' meant but he followed him regardless. As they walked along the corridor to the elevator, he saw sweat glistening on the back of Felipe's neck, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with the memory of what that tasted like. He felt a bit unsteady on his feet, and as they stood inside the elevator he mentally tried to calculate exactly how much he'd had to drink that evening. All he knew was that the red wine was having the same effect on him that it always did – making him feel pleasantly warm and drowsy, making him have a flicker of arousal in the pit of his belly, making him want to kiss Felipe - because the times he had always liked kissing Felipe most was when they'd shared a bottle or two of good Italian red and they both had stained lips, and their mouths would meet lazily, and...

They emerged at the top and were confronted by a bouncer ushering people back downstairs. Rob realised it was closing time and prepared to be similarly turned away. But Felipe gave the bouncer a nod, and he stepped aside.

"I might not be an F1 driver any more, but my name still has a certain... " Felipe waved his hands about, searching for the right word, but his English failed him.

Rob took a sharp intake of breath as he saw the roof terrace of the hotel. Large parasols and tables ran down each side of the glass balustrades, and the air was heady with the smell of bougainvillea and the flickering scented candles. The skyline of Sao Paulo glittered around their heads, and Rob gave a small contented sigh as he looked around at the lights twinkling amidst the inky blackness of the night.

Felipe sat down on one of the long rattan sofas, leaning forward with his fingertips pressed together. His face seemed dark, as if he was thinking hard. Rob paced slowly towards him before tentatively sitting down beside the other man. They both stared straight ahead, and despite the noise of people and cars on the street below, the world had never seemed so quiet.

"I wish it had been me."

"I do too."

"You still won." Felipe said quietly.

"Not with you I didn't, though."

Neither of them looked at the other during this exchange, but Rob glanced down at Felipe's hand, which was now gripping the edge of the sofa. He turned his eyes away, anything to try to quell the ache inside him; the ache created by wanting to take the hand in his own.

"Mate, I... " Rob began, but Felipe interrupted him.

"Was it just the stuff inside the car that you missed, with me?"

Finally Felipe turned to look at Rob. His eyes were pleading, flickering shyly between Rob's face and a spot somewhere in between his knees.

"Of course not," Rob replied. "Of _course_ not."

He turned his body towards Felipe as from somewhere below them there came the noise of fireworks going off.

"It's been a tough season without hearing your laugh in the garage, I'll tell you that much."

"You always said I wasn't funny."

"You aren't," Rob snapped back good-naturedly. He paused. "Not intentionally, anyway."

Felipe's mouth twitched a little, and he put his head down to hide the sliver of a smile that Rob's words had caused.

"I am not as funny as your dancing at parties."

Rob's laugh felt like a release. He cleared his throat.

"I miss _this_ the most, you know. Taking the piss out of you. Like mates do."

"Well, we _are_ mates."

"Are we?" Rob said, his voice shaking slightly. He stood up and walked across the decking towards the balustrade. Leaning over, he heard Felipe join him, and suddenly felt angry. "You haven't spoken to me for a year, Felipe. Is that what mates do?"

"Because... "

"A year, Felipe. And I tried. I fucking tried my best to speak to you, to get in touch somehow."

"Because I felt... "

"And you ignored me. Do you understand what that was like for me? How that made me feel?"

"Because I felt like I let you down!" Felipe exclaimed. "I felt like I was a failure! Like I'd failed YOU."

Rob shook his head, throwing his hands up in disbelief, and looking squarely at Felipe, whose face was flushed and chest was heaving.

"Ferrari Formula One driver for ten years. Almost being World Champion. Coming back from nearly being killed... how in the hell do you call yourself a failure after coming through all that? Jesus, Felipe... " He laughed. "You're even stupider than I remember."

Felipe moved closer, so close that their arms were touching as they both looked across Sao Paulo.

"Maybe. But the minute you got another driver you won a World Championship."

"Yeah I did," Rob nodded. "And yet instead of being really, truly happy earlier, all I could think about was how I wish it had been you and me celebrating instead. Fuck, I think even if it had been one win, let alone an entire Championship with you, I'd have been happier."

He choked back a sob as he felt Felipe's hand suddenly slide over the top of his. Rob turned his palm upwards, and Felipe's fingers locked in between his. Their knuckles clashed, and Rob's eyes pricked with tears as he felt Felipe squeeze his hand.

"Felipe... "

"No, shut up," Felipe demanded. "You know, sometimes when I'm driving, I can hear you talking to me. All the time, talk talk talk." He pointed to his ear. "I miss your voice, even when you used to say words I didn't understand. And your eyes, I miss them too. And your laugh. And... " He stopped to take a breath. "And I told a lie earlier," he whispered, his voice croaky. "When I said that I don't believe what I used to feel about you. I still feel it _here_."

Felipe tapped the left hand side of his chest gently.

"What?" he asked, as Rob quietly mouthed _'fuck'_.

"If we weren't standing here with that big guy just metres away from us, you know I'd kiss you, right?"

Felipe didn't reply, and Rob suddenly wondered if he'd said too much, too soon. Maybe he was being too eager, too hopeful that Felipe would still be in _that_ place; the way that he had realised he still was.

"I mean, only if it was okay for me to – only if you wanted it as well."

Felipe gave a shy grin.

"For sure, I mean, it would be nice, but..."

"But I have to go home tomorrow – and you're going back to Botacatu tonight."

Felipe raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I mean, is no problem for me to get back there at any time. Any time."

Rob could hear the blood thudding in his head and could feel the sting in his palms and in the small of his back as he started to sweat slightly. A vision of Felipe coming to him once, lips red with arousal and Ferrari overalls hanging off his waist, burst into his mind, and he didn't even want to try to push it away.

"Let go of my hand," Rob asked, his voice now a low murmur.

Felipe complied, and Rob dug his hand into his pocket. He pulled out his hotel room key and let it sit in the palm of his hand, offering it to Felipe.

Felipe smiled.

***

_Rob had never heard Felipe groan like this. Panting out his name, asking for 'more, more'. Rob gripped onto his hips, feeling Felipe's hands slippery against his shoulders and around the back of his neck. Rob tried to hold on as long as he could, but the sight of the rivulets of sweat pooling in Felipe's navel were too much for him, and he cried out, hearing Felipe's soft, high moans as he climaxed soon afterwards too, falling onto Rob's chest with a sigh._

_"You were loud tonight," Felipe had teased him, as Rob had smoked a sneaky cigarette out of the window. He'd turned to look at Felipe lying back on the bed, white sheets tangled around his tanned legs, and his eyes smiling as he looked up at Rob. The guilt at knowing Felipe was going to be told bad news by the team in the coming days lay heavy in his stomach._

_"You were too," Rob told him, as he sat on the edge of the bed. Felipe sat up, wrapping his arms around Rob's waist and leaning his head against his engineer's back. Rob felt Felipe's lips tickle the back of his neck, and he shivered._

_"Was good," Felipe said. "That's why. Not good – great. But I mean, you were saying 'I love you' over and over."_

_"I was?" Rob rubbed his forehead. Suddenly he had a blinding headache._

_"Yes."_

_"Well," Rob shrugged. "I do."_

_He turned his head, letting Felipe kiss him. Hungry, grateful, needy kisses. Rob closed his eyes, thinking God, please don't let this be the last time he kisses me like this. Don't let tonight be the last time he ever looks at me the way he just did when he was lying there._

_***_

Cold, with a wind that could cut you in two. That's what Felipe had always said about Silverstone, and today that description was fairly accurate, Rob decided. He zipped up his red coat, turning his face from the direction of the wind. Christ, it was cold. How could it be this cold in June? He suddenly realised that a mug of tea from Ferrari hospitality seemed very inviting, and set about managing his way through the throngs of people that were on the grid. He gave a thumbs up to Giuliano on his way past – he'd moved up from data to race engineer, and was doing admirably in his new role, by all accounts.

He walked right past the Sky and BBC F1 teams, who barely gave him a second glance. He pretended not to notice as he saw a TV crew in orange shirts glancing around for someone to interview. He heard his name mentioned amidst a stream of Portuguese, and then suddenly a microphone was in front of him, and he had to answer the questions. Had to answer because it was his mate Felipe asking them.

"What do you think about the prospects for the race?"

"I think orange isn't your colour, Felipe."

Felipe laughed, shook his head at the camera and attempted to remain professional. Rob resisted the temptation to cuff him around the back of the head while he was speaking live on Brazilian television.

"So what's it like to be at your home Grand Prix when you're not part of it? Is the World Endurance Championship a lot different?"

"Well," Rob began, glancing quickly into the camera with a mischevious smirk on his face. "I've been enduring _you_ for years, so... "

"You are not going to make this easy for me, are you?"

"Never, Massa."

They grinned at one another, and Felipe's smile travelled right the way up from his mouth to his eyes. It had been doing that more and more lately, now that most of the old hurt had healed and pride had been swallowed on both Ferrari's and Felipe's side. They gazed at each other briefly before Felipe appeared to remember he was on live TV, and managed to speak again.

"I'm going to go and talk to someone else who will answer properly. Speaking to you is a waste of time!"

"Alright mate," Rob gave a wink. "I'll see you later."

As he watched the Globo crew walk to the front of the grid, Rob made his way back to the paddock, whistling happily as he went. Tonight would be the last chance he got to see Felipe again for a while. He could only get to a few Grand Prix here and there now that he was working for AF Corse, but there were texts, and phone calls, and Skype. And maybe he'd get to Monza, if he could. Felipe would be at them all, walking up and down the pitlane with his microphone, joking and laughing instead of doing any proper work. A 'year's dicking about in the paddock', Rob had called it.

Rob was warmly greeted by all the mechanics as he sat down at Ferrari for a sandwich and a drink. It was lovely to be back here, as always. But for the moment at least, F1 was over for him. People had told him he was mad to leave the pinnacle of motorsport, that AF Corse wasn't really the same as Ferrari, but it gave him a year to learn a new series, learn a new car and team. A whole year to start doing things _his_ way before Giancarlo retired and Felipe took his place as a WEC driver. Rob was counting down the weeks. He wasn't going to let Felipe down on this one. He was going to repair the trust.

Tonight they'd have dinner; red wine and some pasta dish no doubt – although Felipe was shedding pounds and adding muscle again – then they'd stay up chatting, or fall into bed, or simply go their separate ways again. Just for a little while.

It wasn't perfect, but for now, it was enough. 


End file.
